


Bury Me Under the Church

by Anonymous



Category: One Piece
Genre: Death, Gen, Genocide, Introspection, a peek into what law went through, anonymous cuz im shy, descriptions of dead bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Law was oh, so familiar with death, closer to it than no other human should be allowed. He had seen, heard, tasted it, with every hair on his head and pore of his skin he had felt death.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Anonymous





	Bury Me Under the Church

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh hi, I really liked how this turned out, so I though I'd share!  
> I'm in no way a writer and english isn't my first language apologies if there's grammar mistakes or anything sounds off.
> 
> Disclaimer: jdjkekefkf it's been a long while since I last saw Law's backstory, so I wrote this with only a foggy idea of the events that transpired. I took liberties, sorry!  
> Hope you enjoy it regardless!!
> 
> TW for descriptions of dead bodies, death, genocide, government violence, blood, all that jazz, poor Law
> 
> \- DG

Law was oh, so familiar with death, closer to it than no other human should be allowed. He had seen, heard, tasted it, with every hair on his head and pore of his skin he had felt death.

The first time was in Flevance, when the poisoning and pain became too unbearable for the population, and the government was too afraid to do anything but eradicate all traces of it.

That day, funny enough, had started like any other. Although Lami’s condition was steadily worsening her small smile hadn’t wavered, she still insisted on tracing figures over every new spot on her frail limbs, their parents were still working non-stop, refusing to rest until they poured their every ounce onto helping the townspeople, as hopeless as it seemed. A day like any other, in a city quite unlike every other. Up until that day Law could still say he believed in a higher being, a God even, but maybe he’d been too positive, or maybe this God was far too cruel.

(An understatement).

A bloodbath.

His head rattled with the sound of bullets being fired, desperate screams, hopeless wails, and unanswered pleas for mercy. Breathing harshly, he ran in search of the people he loved the most, ears ringing loud enough to give him a headache and eyes stinging with the promise of tears. One gunshot, several, and his parents are dead in a second. Everything was spinning, the room didn’t feel right and Law could swear the floor was tilted, and as he tried to get his bearings a powerful heat wave slapped thoughts of his now lifeless parents out of his mind.

A blaze. 

Fire had consumed his beloved, sweet little sister, devoured everything of her alive, her heart’s last beat being swallowed up by a raging inferno. A heavy stone of loss and guilt quickly settled deep into Law’s stomach, pulling him apart, splitting him open and leaving him weak at the knees, heart, vulnerable.

Everything was going too fast, too fast, Law needed a moment, he needed to grieve, needed to take a single second to suck in a breath and break down in tears, but he was desperate and death was closing in on his ankles, threatening to drag him down with the whole town, he couldn’t have that, he refused to take the offer that was extended to him by the lead from the bullets and the lead from the city he was raised in. And so he kept running, faster, shoes slapping onto bloodied pavement. In his own distressed search for escape, he scanned his eyes over the scene before him.

Death,  
Death, death, death, everywhere he looked, screams and wails and then gunshots, and _death_.

He abruptly stopped running, and shut his eyes in horror at the familiar faces at his feet. The God he thought he believed in would surely laugh in his face now, in the face of all the kids from the church, at their empty eyes, dry lips, and bloodied bodies. Something ugly coiled in his gut and he was sure nausea was one of them, but it felt searing hot and grotesque, a mix of pain, grief, and anger boiling over the tipping point; so he cried, it was loud and the only thing he could do, after all he was unable to even attempt to save anyone. Death stuck on him like disease stuck to the leather coat of a plague doctor as his heart ached for the smiles of those who he had lost, yearned for their company and the sense of belonging that it offered, but all they were and all he got was a pile of decaying flesh, dozens of faceless bodies that once looked and sounded like people he knew.

In them, Law saw a way out.

Enclosed by quiet hearts he laid still for hours on end so he could leave this cursed city, the stench of corpses invading his nostrils to the point of feeling his brain being pushed out of his skull. Sometimes he changed position while laying uselessly, maybe to avoid looking at the kid who had given him a bite of his lunch 3 days ago, only to turn around and find yet another face he could remember if he looked at it longer than the time it took to turn to the previous kid. 

Law would try to get a wink of sleep, his body and mind were fatigued beyond belief after hours of being only able to run, hear gunshots, and feel the air heavy with copper. He resented his fate though, ‘cause as soon as he closed his eyes his other senses would be amplified, and the stench of rotten, and blood, and death became ten times stronger, he could feel every part of his body being touched by decaying flesh, some almost threatening to slip off, he’d feel fingers grabbing at his limbs, and hair tickling at his face and legs. He really did wish his mind’s response was to shut down, become numb at the grotesque scene, but alas some God apparently hated him.

He tried to be patient though, he had to be if he wanted to be safe, arrive anywhere with his heart still beating unlike the unmoving bodies surrounding him, and so the minutes became hours and the hours became days; not that law knew though, he had lost all sense of time, of real, of tangible. The only things real to him at this point were the continuous hunger and exhaustion. Eternity dragged on and the necrosed flesh of the townspeople became a scent that would be stubbornly lodged into his nostrils for decades to come.

A kid, ten years old, kind at heart and mind innocent as the white of the mineral that plagued his city, was eternally cursed by death, he became alive with hot anger. God hated him and so law decided to hate the world for it, he had lost all things that mattered to him and more in the span of a single order and a single day. He had every right to be angry, anger that soon enough turned into violence.

Once on land at a safe distance, his fists curled up into his palms, drawing blood of the same color that had painted the pale streets of Flevance, and he screamed, enraged. He screamed at the whole world and at nothing at the same time until his voice was hoarse and his throat burned with pain. Even then he kept screaming, because he was weak and small, infested by poison and pain, labeled by an expiration date. 

The second time he saw the ugly clutches of death creep at him behind his shoulders he was standing in front of a tall man sporting a wide grin. This time would be different though, so much anger, pain, and grief condensed into a small body would surely make a difference, it had to, it had to. 

Perhaps he had found it,  
the way for this his ugly path to be different, the _will_ to make it so.

Law uttered with all certainty his death sentence, it was the first time he said it out loud, as if carving it into his headstone with bloody nails and teeth. A resignation, an end date, an embrace. And so, certain that he now had nothing to live for but violence and blood, he offered himself to bring forth just that, and Doflamingo, looking very amused, took him in. The smaller boy’s eyes were empty, lifeless, more corpse-like than they should have any right to be at the tender age of ten and Doflamingo probably guessed that eyes so void of anything would be easy to fill and mold into an unfeeling, genocidal, blood thirsty right hand-man; or puppet, call it what you will. Law saw his anger reflected on the opaque red shades and it felt just right, the blood on his hands, which was no longer that of faces he once knew, felt just right.

However, Doflamingo did not seem to account for one person in particular, a very clumsy and supposedly quiet one.

And so, although Law felt undeserving and lost, for the first time in what felt like five lifetimes or so worth of pain, 

he was given life.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, a kudos or comment would mean so so much to me, thank you for reading!  
> Sorry if this ended abruptly, it was originally going to be longer, but I ran out of words ;^;
> 
> \- DG


End file.
